


Daddy Made My Bed, Now I Have to Lie In It

by embalmer56, princessladybug



Series: The Adventures of Baby Sherlock and Daddy Watson. [8]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Age Play, Age Regression/De-Aging, Bratting, Diapers, Implied Relationships, M/M, Napping, Spanking, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Thumb-sucking, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, naughty stool, pull-ups
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-20
Updated: 2014-06-20
Packaged: 2018-02-05 12:42:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1818925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/embalmer56/pseuds/embalmer56, https://archiveofourown.org/users/princessladybug/pseuds/princessladybug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How the crib came to 221B Baker Street.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Daddy Made My Bed, Now I Have to Lie In It

**Author's Note:**

> -dubiously beta'd  
> -even more dubiously brit-picked  
> -If you see any truly heinous errors, let us know  
> -comments and kudos encourage us to keep writing.  
> -We are hoping to start a Babylock ageplay Tumblr, would anyone be interested in joining and/or helping to moderate? Drop us a note.

Sherlock sat against the wall, his arms wrapped around his long legs, watching John put sheets on the new crib mattress.

It'd taken John most of the morning to put the thing together. Despite Sherlock's very vocal displeasure, and scrapping most of the skin off of one of his knuckles, John was in high spirits. 

After adjusting the quilt, John took a step back to admire his work. The dark wood was elegant and, John's lower back twinged, heavy. The soft grey and yellow bedding Mycroft had sent along added warmth and made the bed look inviting.

"It's a lovely bed." John said over his shoulder. Sherlock made an effort to growl like Daddy, but even to his own ears it sounded more like a whinge than anything else. Sherlock settled for glaring at the floor instead. 

"I don't want it."

John hummed noncommittally, glancing at his watch. "You won't know that for sure until you've tried it. And since it's just about nap time..."

"No, I don't want it."

"Pet, we've discussed this," John paused squinting at the wall counting silently, "six times in the last two days alone."

"I don't care. It's stupid."

"If I could trust little boys to stay in bed through the night we may have been able to skip the crib."

Sherlock blushed and pulled his knees closer to his chest. "It's not night time."

"Quite right. It's nap time." 

John stripped off his jumper and put it in the crib, draped over the pillow. 

"Why don't you get into bed while Daddy goes and fetches you some warm milk?" John ran his fingers over the top of Sherlock’s head as he moved out the door. "Daddy wants you in bed by the time he comes back, little love." John said as he turned into the kitchen. Sherlock stared down the hallway John had just disappeared down for a moment before glaring at the crib. It was an abomination. Daddy and My were just doing this to be mean to him, but he couldn't figure out why. His fingers twitched longingly for Daddy's jumper; he'd be able to think better if he could touch it but getting any closer to the crib seemed impossible. And Daddy expected him to get in it on his own; he could hear John puttering in the kitchen, giving Sherlock the chance to get into the crib. Daddy should have known better.

Sherlock pushed himself to his feet and moved tentatively to the side of the crib. The mattress sat higher than his old bed so that there was room for the side to slide down. Sherlock gave the railing a small kick before snatching the jumper off the pillow and backing away from the crib quickly. 

He buried his face in the material and felt better, but the feeling was fleeting. Until inspiration struck.

Daddy had said to be in bed. But he hadn’t said which bed. John had toted Sherlock’s expensive bed set upstairs to replace his own; so Sherlock would just go upstairs and go to his own bed. Simple. And if he was a good boy and stayed in bed from now on, he would never have to sleep in the crib.

Congratulating himself on being brilliant, Sherlock spared one more glare at the crib before he made his way down the hall. He was through the kitchen and on the landing before Daddy noticed him. “Little man, where do you think you’re going?” Daddy didn’t sound amused.

“I’m going to bed, Daddy.” Sherlock chirped brightly, putting on his most innocent face.

“Bed is back that direction, Sherlock.” John said, pointing a thumb at the nursery, “And I suggest you go.”

 

“No, Daddy. My bed is upstairs.” John stared at him with that damned unreadable expression for a few moments before his mouth turned up in a soothing smile.

 

“Baby, Daddy put together the crib Mycroft brought for you so that you could sleep in it.”

 

“I don't wanna sleep in the crib, Daddy…”

  
“Sherlock."

  
"And I'm not tired a'tall so I don't need to lay down in any bed..."

  
"It's naptime, Pet."

  
"But you can sleep there though, Daddy, since it’s such a nice bed."  
  
“Sweetheart...”

 

"You're not listening to me. I said NO!" Sherlock is suddenly shouting and the expression on John’s face goes from soothing to thunderous in a single heartbeat.

 

“Are you allowed to shout at Daddy?” The calm in Daddy’s voice is a trap and Sherlock knows it. He makes a show of glaring at the floor to the right of Daddy’s legs and shuffling his own feet nervously. “Well?”

 

“No. Not ‘llowed.”

“I think you should go get the naughty stool and have yourself a seat until you remember how to talk properly to Daddy.”

“I don’t want to.” Sherlock told the floor. John hummed this agreement.

“I’m not terribly pleased about it either. Go on then. Unless you’d like to sit on a warm bottom?”

Sherlock shook his curls vigorously. He reluctantly handed Daddy his jumper before heading into the sitting room and pulling the cursed little stool from underneath the end table next to the sofa. Sherlock glared at the weeping duckling on the seat. He hated that duck. He wished it’d get eaten by a large predator with very sharp teeth.

“Sherlock. Daddy isn’t going to tell you again.” John said from his spot at the sink. He wasn’t even going to watch to be sure Sherlock sat on the naughty stool, which made Sherlock both angry and grateful. He wanted Daddy’s attention but it was humiliating having Daddy stand in the doorway and watch him as if he couldn’t be trusted. Sherlock was loath to admit that he probably couldn’t be trusted, but that was really beside the point.

Sherlock moved out onto the landing, placing the stool at his feet. He glanced at Daddy, still doing the washing up from breakfast. He nudged the stool with his barefoot, almost gleeful at the dull scrap it made against the hardwood. He nudged a few more times until one of the four stout legs was dangling over the staircase. Sherlock thought of sitting on the stool now. It might be fun, like riding a bucking bronco. He glanced again into the kitchen and Daddy still wasn’t paying attention to him, probably assuming Sherlock was sitting on the stool as he’d been told. Daddy was always crap at deductions.

Without a second thought, Sherlock gave the short stool a rather forceful kick, sending it careening down the stairs. The noise was brilliant; each impact of the stool off of the stairs echoing through the stairwell in perfect stereo. Sherlock bounced on the balls of his feet and clapped his hands, euphoric for all of three seconds until a hand wrapped around his forearm and turned him in place.

Daddy. Was. Pissed.

Sherlock’s expression fell immediately. He’d been so eager for Daddy’s attention; he had forgotten how much he didn’t like this kind of attention.

“Go pick that up. Now.” Daddy’s voice was calm, but there was no mistaking the menace there.

Sherlock nodded and quickly made his way down the stairs to the second landing. The twice damned stool was still in one piece; crap old world construction, Sherlock thought to himself. He also made a quick inventory of the wall it had bounced off of before coming full stop on the landing. There were no marks to be seen. Hopefully that would help his case. His bottom involuntarily clenched at the thought.

He chanced a glance up the stairs as he bent to retrieve the stool. Daddy was standing at the top, arms crossed, his mouth set in a narrow line.

Now that he had Daddy’s full attention, he didn’t want it. Sherlock felt tears prick his eyes as he made his way back up the stairs as slowly as he dared. He wished he’d just sat on the stool to begin with, or better yet, just gotten into the crib.

Daddy and his disapproval seemingly took up the whole entry way and Sherlock had to stop a step below the landing, making him shorter than Daddy. He felt terribly little and couldn’t stop himself from fidgeting with the stool in his hands and looking anywhere but Daddy’s stormy expression.

“Sherlock. Look at me.”

Sherlock rolled his lips between his teeth, biting down hard for a moment before glancing up at Daddy through his fringe.

“Tell me why Daddy is about to spank your bare bottom.”

Sherlock audibly gulped, tears suddenly running down his cheeks unbidden. Daddy rarely smacked him bare.

“Cause I…I didn’t sit on the naughty stool.”

“What else?”

“I pushed it down the stairs instead.”

“Yes, you did. Why was pushing your naughty stool down the stairs completely unacceptable?”

“It was naughty and I’m not ‘llowed?” Sherlock mumbled.

“Yes, but why was it naughty, Sherlock?”

Sherlock shrugged helplessly. He knew well before he had knocked the stool down the stairs that he shouldn’t, but only because he knew it would upset Daddy. More and more he did (and didn’t do) a lot of things simply because of how Daddy would react. That had been true throughout their relationship, but seemed to increase since he’d been little.

“What if Mrs. Hudson had been coming up the stairs when you had knocked the stool down?” John said quietly. The very idea sent a fresh wave of tears down Sherlock’s face. He hadn’t thought of that.

“No, Daddy. I would never hurt Mrs. Hudson.”

“I know you wouldn’t hurt her on purpose, Sherlock. But you could have hurt her pitching a fit and knocking the stool down the stairs. That is more than a bit not good.” Sherlock nodded his agreement. He’d never forgive himself if something happened to Mrs. Hudson because of him.

“Put that here,” John pointed at the landing. “And then come here,” he said calmly, turning back into the kitchen. Sherlock put the stool on the landing and came to the doorway as Daddy pulled one of the chairs from the kitchen table into the middle of the room.

John sat in the chair and turned to look at Sherlock, frozen in the doorway. Sherlock saw his expression soften for the briefest of moments before his forceful Daddy face took back over.

“Come on then.” John gestured for him, but he couldn’t move. His legs refused to cooperate. He knew he deserved this, but willingly putting your bottom in the line of fire just seemed idiotic.

John’s expression hardened slightly, “Oi!” He snapped his fingers and pointed at the floor on his right side, and without thought Sherlock moved into the space. John made short work of tugging his trousers and pants down around his knees and pulling him across his lap. He adjusted the little detective, lifting his right foot up onto the rung of the chair so Sherlock was tipped forward, his plush bottom more fully on display.

Sherlock shivered as a cool calloused hand rested against his bottom.

“Once more. Why are we doing this?”

Sherlock steadied himself with one hand on the floor, the other he wrapped around Daddy’s ankle. Tears still rolled down his cheeks and his breathe hitched as he repeated his crimes.

“I didn’t do what I was told, and I knocked the stool down the stairs and could have hurt Mrs. Hudson.”

“Precisely. Now hold tight.”

Daddy was an efficient spanker. Laying down a heavy round of swats and then pausing to let the heat settle in before starting over again. Sherlock howled and flailed, but Daddy had him firmly anchored to his lap. After what felt like hours, but was really only a few minutes, Sherlock quit struggling and lay still over Daddy’s lap, sobbing heavily as Daddy continued to light his bottom on fire.

After several hard swats to his sit spots Daddy stopped spanking and laid his hand on the small of Sherlock’s back, rubbing small circles, murmuring to him softly. It took a few minutes for Sherlock to calm enough to realize the punishment was over. With Daddy’s help, he pulled himself up and fell heavily into Daddy’s lap, moaning softly as his very tender bottom pressed against Daddy’s thigh, he snuffled sorrowfully into Daddy’s shoulder. They sat that way for a long time, with Daddy rubbing his back and pressing kisses to his face.

“I’m guessing Mrs. Hudson isn’t home.” Sherlock mumbled into Daddy’s shoulder

“Not really the point.”

Sherlock sniffled and nodded sadly. “Do I…” He didn’t want to ask, but not knowing was making him nervous. “Do I have to still sit on the naughty stool now?” He could feel John’s mouth twitch against his forehead and Sherlock suddenly felt like kicking himself for having started this line of thought. Daddy apparently hadn’t considered that as a possibility. Stupid.

John pulled back to look at his face. Sherlock knew from past experience that he looked as miserable as he felt. Daddy scrunched his nose and made a show of checking his watch.

“Well, you’ve sat quietly on a very sore bum for about ten minutes. I was only going to have you sit on the naughty stool for five, so I think we’ll call it even, yea?”

“Punishment is over?” Sherlock mumbled. John hummed his agreement. Sherlock sighed happily and snuggled closer to Daddy. They stayed snuggled for a few moments before John started to nudge Sherlock off of his lap.

“Alright, Pet. Let’s get you into the nursery and down for a nap.”

Sherlock snuffled sadly and felt his eyes well back up with tears. “But…But, you said punishment is over?”

“Oh goodness. I don’t understand what all the fuss is about today, little love.” John huffed, pulling the little detective in tight. "Course punishment is over”

“So I don't have to sleep in the crib?” Sherlock asked into John’s neck.

John startled. “Sherlock. The crib is not a punishment.”

“Yes it is. ‘Cause I’ma bad boy and don’t stay in bed.”

John bit his own lip, hard. Sometimes he forgot what a delicate little guy Sherlock could be. “Daddy didn’t mean that, Sherlock.”

“Mmmhmmm. You said so.”

“I shouldn’t have said that, and I’m sorry. You are Daddy’s good boy and the crib is not a punishment. I promise.” John said into the top of his head

“Why can’t I have my regular bed, or sleep in bed with you.”

“It’s important for you to have your own space, somewhere that is just yours, where you know you are safe. And as you keep slipping younger and younger, it’s important that your space be age appropriate. And little boys sleep in cribs.

“Why?”

“To keep them safe; but really it’s to show you that Daddy loves you and is going to take care of you.”

Sherlock chewed his lips for a second, looking contemplative, before whispering. “I don’t understand, Daddy.”

John dropped a kiss on his tear stained cheek. “See, with the crib, you’re going to have to rely on Daddy to put you to bed, and wake you up, and get you a drink.”

A small smile played at the corners of Sherlock’s lips. “You do those things anyways.”

“Yes I do. But you’re not going to be able to get out of the crib to do those things yourself without thinking are you. If you get out of the crib you’ll know without a doubt you’re breaking a rule.”

“What if you’re really cross with me and just leave me there and don’t come back?”

““That’s not going to happen, Sherlock. I’ve no intention of leaving my little boy”

“I’d be trapped forever.” Sherlock whispered, his eyes huge.

“It’s not a cage, Sherlock. You can get out of it. I know for a fact you’re going to climb out of it eventually…” John put a loud kiss on Sherlock’s forehead to stall his protest. “We’ll deal with that when it comes. And we’ve talked about this; this is only a trial run. If we try the crib for a while, and you absolutely hate it, we’ll get rid of it. No harm, no foul.”

“My…”

“Doesn’t live here with us. His opinion doesn’t count.” Sherlock offered Daddy a small smile at this and tried to stifle a yawn. “Come on, love. Daddy will sit with you until you fall asleep.” John said, finally managing to nudge Sherlock off his lap.

Sherlock stood up reluctantly, shuffling awkwardly for half a step before leaning down with a grimace to tug his clothes back on.

“Nah. Go on and take off your pants and trousers. We'll put you in a pull-up for naptime." John said, tucking his chair into place at the table.

  
Sherlock kicked off his bottoms, leaving them heaped on the kitchen floor. Daddy would pick them up.  
He took Daddy's hand and followed him through the kitchen, snatching his jumper off the back of a chair as he was tugged down the hall. Daddy pulled him into his bedroom and kept hold of his hand, rifling through the closet with the other.  
  
Sherlock yawned and pressed his face into Daddy's jumper.

“Here we go, Pet. Hop in.” John said, letting go of Sherlock’s hand to hold open the pull-up he’d retrieved from the closet. Sherlock stepped into the pull-up and grit his teeth as it was tugged up over his very sore bottom.

“My bum hurts.” He whined around another yawn. “And I’m still not tired.”

“Yes, I can see that.” John moved him to the side of the crib and ran a steadying hand down his back when he froze. “Come on, into bed.”

Sherlock chewed his lip for a moment, twisting the jumper in his hands mercilessly, before finally crawling into the crib. He flopped onto his belly and tucked Daddy’s jumper beneath his chin.

“Not so bad, yea?” John said cheerfully.

“The mattress isn’t really the issue.” Sherlock grumbled around the thumb that had made its way into his mouth.

John hummed softly. “You've told me how many times when you’re big, that you wanted a crib. And now it's here you're fighting me about it.” There was no heat behind his words.

Sherlock frowned as he pulled his thumb out of his mouth, “I did...do; want it. It's just a huge...thing." He finished with a grimace.

“It’s different to want a thing, than to actually have it, yea?” John murmured as he stroked gentle circles into the nape of his neck.

“Cheater.” Sherlock sighed, his eyes drifting closed as his thumb made its way back to his mouth.

John just chuckled and continued to stroke Sherlock until his breathing had evened out. “Sweet dreams, Pet.” John murmured as he pulled the side of the crib up and into place with a gentle click.

He shook his head as he walked out of the nursery. “Bedtime is going to be a nightmare.”


End file.
